Doors Closed and Windows Open
by darkbloodylegs
Summary: An accidental kiss causes Phil's eyes to open to possibilities and hidden longings; a little push from PJ starts his life in a new direction. PHAN and Kicktthesticks.
1. Chapter 1

Doors Closed and Windows Open

It all started with a kiss.

Things had started out as an innocent (well, as innocent as it could get, seeing as it _was _the two of them, after all) tease for the fans; just a bit of gay chicken. Perhaps they shouldn't have taken a leaf from Chris and PJ's book—obviously leaning in as close as possible before flinching back didn't work as well for them as it did for everyone else. Because when they were close enough that Phil felt Dan's breath puffing onto his cheeks, and when he felt the light brush of Dan's nose against the tip of his own nose, something strange unclicked inside of Phil's brain.

The camera was rolling, trained on their faces, and Dan's pants were almost certainly showing over the too-tight edge of his trousers, and Lion's little plush face was trained down on them from above, burning holes into the back of Phil's neck, but these ordinary things were slowed to a halt inside his mind as Dan's top lip accidentally bumped into Phil's lower one.

Dan shot backwards as if he'd been tasered. "Whoa!" he exclaimed, a little laugh getting lost somewhere in his throat. "_That'_s a scene for the chopping block, yeah?"

Phil may have smiled a bit as an automatic response, the left corner of his mouth rising slightly. It didn't matter though, as Dan wasn't looking at him; in fact, Dan was looking at anything and everything that was _not _Phil.

"_Well_," Dan said a little too loudly, hoisting himself up to his feet, "I think we've got all the footage we need for 'Phil is Not on Fire 5', so I think I'll just begin editing."

"Right, yeah," Phil might have said, still seated on the floor with his back pressed to the sofa. And if his voice left his mouth a little strangely, Dan certainly wasn't stopping to question it in his haste to exit the room.

Lion's eyes burned the back of Phil's exposed neck, plastic and judgmental. "Shut up," Phil mumbled to the toy as he stood on legs that shook slightly under his lanky frame—because he'd been sitting on them, Phil told himself silently, and not for any other ridiculous reason—and stumbled towards his bedroom.

Slipping into his space robot pajama bottoms was easy enough to do and didn't require his brain, which was excellent as the young British adult had firmly switched it off. Now was not the time for thinking, because what on earth would he need to think _about_, of course there was nothing. Tucking his legs underneath his warm duvet and automatically wrapping his arms around Totoro was wonderfully mindless as well. But when the light went off and the creaking of the flat settled into quiet, Phil's brain made itself known again; something was different, and Phil felt it with every fiber of his being.

"Please just don't," Phil murmured, rolling onto his side. He sometimes talked to himself when his thoughts became too loud to hear properly. "Let's not go there." But his mind seemed determined to go there; it was like a toothache that his tongue couldn't leave alone. After struggling for several minutes, he rocked back onto his back and sighed. _All right, then, _he surrendered.

Images of Dan flooded his mind, thoughts he'd kept dammed up for some time now; thoughts he hadn't even known were forbidden simply because he hadn't known they'd been happening. Thoughts of the younger man's brown eyes with the curled gray lashes, memories of the dimples that flashed every time he smiled or the boisterous laugh of his split any uncomfortable silences. Dan had a lovely nose, Phil thought, thinking of the angle.

And well, really, so what? Daniel Howell was an attractive man; everybody with eyes could see that. He was tall and well-proportioned, with features that fell into the 'conventionally handsome' category; and he took care of himself. Appreciating the aesthetic was no crime. So why did these thoughts feel taboo, somehow, and wrong?

When had things changed, Phil thought, feeling rather miserable as he squashed Totoro closer to his chest, the violet-gray plush fur ruffling over his fingers. When had Dan's smiles become more than just a flash of teeth, and transitioned into something warm inside Phil's heart, like a tiny sun? When had Phil started looking at Dan's hands, really _looking_, when the fingers were spread out over a keyboard or clenched tightly around a game controller?

"This isn't right," Phil sighed. "Not right at all."

Feeling remarkably unhappy, he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

…

Morning dawned, rainy and filled with headache. When the tepid shower didn't soothe the pounding in his skull, Phil stumbled from the bathroom clad in his after-shower couture which consisted of, as Dan would say, "Enough towels to clothe a nation," in search of some painkillers. Of course, they were out.

"Shreddies for breakfast, dear?" a wheezy voice inquired. Phil turned his head a few inches to see the Queen herself peering unseeingly at him.

"Oh dear God," he yelped, stumbling into the breakfast bar and bruising his hip in the process.

Laughing hysterically, Dan slipped the mask off. "That never gets old!"

Not feeling entirely in the mood to be pranked by cheap paper masks, Phil scowled and turned his back. "Yes, I suppose," he said, sounding more childish than he'd intended.

"Aaw," Dan cooed, nesting his head over Phil's shoulder. "Did I make poor Phinny-whinny upset?"

Phil froze a bit from the close contact, unsettled by how he could feel Dan's jaw move as he spoke. "Phinny-whinny?" he asked, cringing as his voice squeaked.

"A Twitter follower suggested it," Dan explained. "I thought it fit."

Phil grunted and jiggled his shoulder a bit to throw Dan off before reaching for a cereal dish and the box of Shreddies.

"Your roots are showing," Dan observed, still standing abnormally close, reaching for a lock of Phil's fresh-from-the-shower hair. "Need to touch that up."

Phil cringed away from Dan, a big more aggressively than he normally would, and just caught a glimpse of the younger boy's confused face for a moment before turning his back again. He peeked in the refrigerator for the milk and instead found an empty carton.

"Gah!" he said. "No painkillers, no milk…"

"Why do you need painkillers?" Dan was by his side again, behaving in an unusually clingy way. Unfortunately, the side of Dan's leg bumped Phil's newly forming bruise and Phil let out a very unmanly squeak, batting Dan away again.

"God, God, sorry!" Dan said, eyes wide. Phil frowned at the taller man; Dan rarely sounded so frantic around him.

"Look, Dan," Phil started, feeling like a prick as he looked into Dan's lovely, painfully earnest eyes. "I just need some me-time today…"

"Of course!" Dan stuttered, reaching for his wallet on the counter. "I was just going out to the shops! My brother's birthday is coming up and I wanted to buy something—" he continued to yammer as he hopped around the flat shoving his shoes on. Phil sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers; the headache wasn't going anywhere.

He didn't feel much happier when he was alone in the flat, sunk deep into the red beanbag chair. He couldn't play video games as the screen would hurt his already straining eyes, which also ruled out the computer; without that it didn't leave much for him to do. He glanced down at his iPhone and poked a few keys.

"Hello, mum," he said into the speaker once the other line picked up. He chatted with her for a moment (yes, he was eating properly; no, he still didn't have what she'd consider a proper job) before hanging up. He tried to call Charlie, but nobody picked up so he dialed for PJ.

"Phil, hi," the other man said. Phil sighed and sank deeper into the beanbag, his backside being pulled down so low that his feet stuck almost straight up. PJ had such a soothing voice…

"Hi, PJ," Phil greeted. "What are you doing today?"

PJ dove into a tirade about his newest video, something about building some furniture out of cardboard while using crayons as screws. "I just know if I get the angle right it'd be sturdy enough to hold up my little television," he said. "If I can just carve the notches right…"

"That sounds really creative," Phil said absently, feeling a pang of guilt when he thought about the time and effort PJ must spend in his quest for all things Art. PJ _knew _what he wanted; Phil didn't think he wanted anything; just to make goofy videos with Dan…

… Dan.

Phil was suddenly surprised by a little pang of loneliness.

"Do you think you could come over?" he asked impulsively.

PJ paused in surprise. "Phil, it takes two separate train rides for me to get to your flat…"

"Please?" Phil wheedled. "I'll help you carve your crayon notches, or whatever it is you're doing."

PJ hemmed and hawed, but eventually gave in, as Phil knew he would, because PJ was, at heart, a Nice Guy. Feeling slightly more purposeful, Phil forced himself to his feet and hunted through his cabinets trying to find something PJ might like to eat. There wasn't much; it wasn't Tesco week, so the selection was slim. Still, he managed to extract a bag of M+M's he'd received from an American fan that Dan had yet to notice (and therefore consume), as well as a slightly stale bag of crisps. He absently spread some newspapers out on his kitchen tile, having firsthand experience on the mess some of PJ's projects made.

It was several hours (and several bowls of dry Shreddies) later before there was a knock on his door, and a smiling PJ stepped into his flat. Phil felt a bit calmer the moment he saw the ethereal sea-green eyes; PJ just had that _aura _about him. Sometimes Phil felt that their group of friends was selfish for keeping PJ all to themselves instead of forcing him on heart patients and such to lower their blood pressure.

Still, selfish was something he did well. "Oh, _PJ_," he sighed, breathing out every emotion in a loud puff upon his friend's arrival, collapsing slightly against him. And PJ, bless him, didn't question it. Instead he staggered, half-dragging Phil to the sofa, before setting down his bag and clasping his hands together. "So!" he said cheerfully, "tea, then?"

…

Perhaps it was rude to force your guest to make you a cup of tea. His mum certainly wouldn't have liked it. Still, Phil hadn't exactly _asked _for it. It did feel nice though, warm and comforting, trickling down to seep into the worry crackling up Phil's mind. PJ sat, content and Indian-style, on Phil's rug, carving wax crayons with a paring knife and catching the shavings in a paper towel. He didn't press, but a question did hang in the air just the same.

"PJ, am I… good-looking?" Phil asked after a few long moments of silence. PJ cocked his head at the question, his crooked smile making an appearance. "I… suppose so," he said after a moment. Phil's heart sank. "Not like Dan, though," he frowned.

"Are your fans making comments?" PJ asked, concerned. "No, they love you!"

"It's not the fans," Phil confirmed. "They're great, really. Some of them are creepy as hell, writing erotic fanfiction about me and all, but for the most part it's fine."

"Then if I'm to be honest," PJ said, setting down his violet crayon he'd been working on to turn and face Phil. "You're not really my cup of tea…"

"Oh, never mind," Phil said, trying to play it off with a laugh. He must have been a bit unconvincing, as PJ's smile was already fading.

"Is something the matter, mate?" he asked, leaning back so that his back was supported by Phil's knees. He brushed some crayon shavings off of his lap and onto the plate; they mingled with the others; a nonsensical rainbow of wax.

"No, no," Phil said. Even without seeing PJ's face he knew that the man had an eyebrow raised. He tried to change the subject.

"D'you know you're going a bit gray on top?" he asked, combing PJ's curls through his fingers. He couldn't help but give a little laugh. "God, PJ, you're only twenty-s—"

The door to the flat opened and Dan stepped inside, raincoat dripping and a soggy shopping bag clenched in his fingers. He blinked rainwater from his eyes as he took in the sight of his entryway.

"Oh, h—hello, PJ," he greeted, a funny expression on his face.

Phil scrambled to his feet, and without the support of his legs PJ tumbled backwards, slicing his own palm with the paring knife. Although Phil wasn't usually the type to swear…

"Shit."

… it seemed that the moment called for it.

…

One bandage, four bath towels, and an incredibly quiet dinner of stir-fry later and PJ was on his way to the train station again, crayons properly carved and a plastic grocery sack protecting the cardboard from the downpour. Phil walked him to the lift, still feeling guilty.

"Are you sure it's alright?" he asked for the billionth time. "You're not going to get wax poisoning?" he took PJ's wrist and tried to peek under the bandage, but the thin man gently pushed him back.

"Phil…" he muttered, green eyes considering. "Please forgive me…"

He leaned in close, rested his chin on the blue-eyed man's shoulder, and wrapped his arms around Phil's waist.

"PJ, what…" Phil started to speak, but was quieted with the brush of lips against his shoulder.

"I'm either helping you out or really screwing your life up, is what," PJ murmured before letting go and stepping back in the lift. "Dan is watching," was all he said before the metal doors slid shut.

Whirling around, Phil saw the familiar brown eyes witnessing the bizarre exchange through their flat's window. Feeling unaccountably nervous, he let himself back in.

"Nice guy, PJ," Phil said, trying to laugh as he began clearing away their dinner dishes.

"How nice?" Dan asked, still giving Phil a bit of an intense look.

"What?" Phil laughed, still feeling the ghost of unexpected dry lips against his shoulder, incriminating as they were.

"You two were being pretty chummy, is all." Dan's voice was trying to sound even, but it came across as horribly fake, and Phil cocked his head. Dan seemed to realize that his tone was strange and he seemed to shake himself out of it.

"So! Want to see what I bought today?" he asked.

"Yeah!" Phil attempted a smile. "Did you buy me a lion?"

"You wish," Dan scoffed. "Catch!"

A small rattling bottle came hurling at him and Phil fumbled at it before it inevitably clacked loudly against the linoleum of their kitchen. "Nice," Dan snickered.

Rescuing it from underneath the table, Phil turned the bottle over in his hands. _Painkillers._

"Are these for me?" Phil asked, his voice catching on the last word, and he flushed, feeling like he was fourteen again; awkward, uncertain, and hormonal as hell.

Dan shrugged, busying himself by returning to the shopping bag. "Well, yeah; you said you needed them… Oh, and look, for my brother I got a white chocolate statue of Zelda…"

"You bought me painkillers." Something in Phil's brain seemed to have shorted out for real now. Dan looked up.

"Yes, we've established that…"

Phil reached for the chocolate box and took it from Dan's hands, setting it on the counter.

"Phil?" Dan questioned, taking a step back.

_Here goes nothing_, a voice that sounded disturbingly like Lion said inside Phil's brain as he took Dan's chin in his hand, angling it down slightly as he pulled himself up onto his toes.

"Ph—" Dan started to say, but the older man kissed him, soft and questioning. Dan's eyes were wide as Phil pulled back a second later to stare at his toes, folding his arms over his chest.

"Oh," Dan replied, looking as if he'd just had a football smash him between the eyes. "_Oh_." His lips were twitching, as if uncertain whether to smile. "But PJ…"

"No." Phil said. "Not PJ."

This time it was Dan who bent his head down to Phil's.

…


	2. Chapter 2

The lights were on, warm and inviting, when PJ stepped off the lift and towards his flat, so it didn't surprise him at all to find that he had company. Chris was curled up like a cat on his sofa watching some anime on the telly with a bowl of noodles on his lap.

He looked up when PJ clicked the door shut behind himself. "Oh, hello," he greeted, glancing up from his show.

PJ smiled back. Chris looked so cuddly, with thick maroon sweatpants and a white undershirt serving as pajamas. "Hello."

Chris cocked his head. "You're soaking," he observed, his eyes tracking the rainwater sluicing its way down PJ's lanky frame. The worry in his eyes was quickly shut down and his mouth turned up at the left in a smirk. "I like it," he said, lidding his eyes suggestively.

"You _would_," PJ grumbled, stepping towards the airing cupboard for a bath towel. His hair crackled with electricity as he rubbed it.

One of the female characters on screen let out a loud wail, her head and wild blue hair thrashing around as her bikini strap came undone. Emerging from his towel, PJ lifted an eyebrow.

"Enjoying yourself there?" he asked Chris, who grinned wider.

"I might be," the shorter man replied. His smile was pure sin, and PJ's eyes were automatically drawn to the thick, dark lips folded over the sharp white teeth. He swallowed, his skin flushing. He turned around and made his way to his bedroom, breathing in a sigh of relief as the warm, familiar scents of the room engulfed him. Though he was more social now, he was at heart an introvert, and small familiar spaces suited him fine. He lifted his sodden hoodie over his head and had just grabbed the hem of his t-shirt when-

"So where were you today?" PJ gave a little jump at the question; apparently Chris had followed him. He spun around to see the man leaning up against the doorframe, looking oh-so-casual… or at least _trying _to. There was something off in his dark eyes.

"O—oh," PJ stuttered, awkwardly holding his shirt into place. In the background, he could hear the show still playing loudly on the telly. "I went to Dan and Phil's place; Dan was out and Phil wanted a little company."

"Did he now?" Chris asked, smiling lightly. But it wasn't _really_ a light smile, was it, PJ mused, eyes fixed on the other man's face. Chris was difficult to read, laughing when he was hurt and changing the subject back to the other person whenever a topic struck too close to home. Still, he'd known Chris long enough to scratch the surface and begin to see what was underneath… the problem was he didn't always know _what _he was seeing. "Go on then," he gestured, "get your kit off; you must be freezing."

_This shouldn't feel so uncomfortable;_ PJ fretted as he obediently removed his shirt and toweled the water droplets from his chest. _It's not like he's never seen me before… And _more _than just 'seen', too…_

Still, there was a certain imbalance of power when one person was naked and the other, fully dressed. PJ definitely felt vulnerable as Chris' eyes unabashedly flickered over his body as he removed his shoes, trousers, and finally, pants. PJ couldn't help but avert his eyes, feeling intense relief when he was finally dry enough to button up his flannel pajamas.

"Look, how come you didn't text me that you were coming over?" PJ asked, finally breaking the silence as he reached for a comb to sort out the mess that was his hair. Chris moved to stand beside him and took the comb from his hand, and PJ immediately bent his knees to accommodate a little as the other man began picking the damp tangles out.

"I suppose I just thought you would be here," Chris said with a shrug. "And I got here and you weren't, so I figured there was no need to bother you."

And again, there was something not quite _right_ in his tone. Like taking a sip of water and tasting a hint of metal in it, it was subtle but definitely there. PJ wasn't in the mood for games. His mind suddenly took a trip back to earlier that evening and he felt a squirm of guilt in his belly; he had definitely been playing games _then_. He remembered the feeling of Phil pressed to his chest, the warmth of Phil's shoulder against his lips. And more than anything he remembered Dan's eyes, dark and blazing, meeting his over the top of Phil's head.

"I did something you won't like," he confessed to Chris, who carried on combing without pause.

"Oh?" Chris asked. "What's that?"

"I kissed Phil."

He felt Chris stiffen against his back, the man's hand tighten its grip on his shoulder. There was a beat of silence, and then Chris relaxed.

"Why wouldn't I like that?" he asked, his voice cool and distant as a telephone operator's. "If you want to be with Phil it's absolutely your right; I'm so happy for you."

"No—" PJ tried not to curse as Chris tugged, hard, against a strong tangle. "Ah, ow! It wasn't like that. He and Dan were just sort of dancing around each other and there was a weird atmosphere in the room like you couldn't believe… I thought something might have happened between them."

He turned around to face Chris and found the other's face completely closed off; a door that had been locked and bolted and sealed with cement around all the cracks. "I meddled, is all. I thought if I tipped the scales one way or the other, something would happen. I didn't even stick around to see if I was right."

Tentatively, he angled his head down and touched his lips to the other man's. There was no response to the kiss; Chris' lips remained hard and unmoving as stone, and PJ pulled away. For a split second, the window to the other's eyes was open and PJ saw pain. Chris expression quickly morphed into of annoyance.

"Well if _you _want to spend our anniversary kissing other men, Peej, then _that_'s your prerogative," Chris said, voice tight as he set the comb back onto the tabletop. He turned his back and left the room, his footsteps quick but deliberately quiet as he made his way back to the front entrance. Baffled, PJ followed him only to see the other man grabbing his coat and slipping his shoes on; he pulled an umbrella from a small vase from the door as well.

"Wait—" PJ said, reaching for his hand; Chris snatched it away and reached for the door handle. "Wait, Chris; what did you mean, 'my anniversary'?"

Chris went completely still, and then seemed to sag as if all of the air had been let out of him. PJ wasn't prepared for the rush of emotion on his face as they made eye-contact; the anger and frustration and sadness…

"This was the six month anniversary of when I first kissed you, didn't you know? I sort of thought it was when you and I first became, you know, _PJ and Chris_."

"Wait—there's an _us_?" PJ asked, startled. When Chris' eyebrows shot up he tried to redeem himself via explanation: "I mean, you always acted so _casual _about it, just us getting off together whenever you got horny. I didn't even know I _mattered _to you!"

The swirl of emotion finally decided to settle on anger, then rage. With shaking hands, Chris reached for PJ, his fingers gripped to his shoulders, and PJ found himself shoved into the wall behind himself. "Aah!" he exclaimed as his head cracked against the surface. Before he could even open his eyes there were lips pressed to his neck, sharp teeth nipping at his collarbone in a whirlwind of motion.

"I don't know about _you_," Chris growled out between licks, "but it sure as hell meant more than that to _me_."

Knees shaking underneath the onslaught, a small fire was kindled inside PJ's belly, as it seemed to whenever Chris was touching him. Wanting to think straight, he pushed the man away.

"Chris!" he said, grabbing the man's face to force eye-contact with him. "I always wanted more, I was just afraid to say anything. I thought it'd scare you off, I thought I was just your… _fuck buddy_ or something."

Chris' pupils dialated, with anger or arousal or a mix of the two, PJ didn't know.

"Listen here, PJ Liguori," he said, voice low but crystal clear. He pressed a searing kiss to the other's mouth, leaving PJ aching as he pulled away. "I don't _do _'fuck buddies'. And I don't _want _you out there kissing Phil Lester. Either you're _all _mine…" he emphasized the 'all' by sliding a leg between PJ's thighs grinding slightly and causing PJ to whimper, "Or this is over. Do you understand?"

PJ dropped his head to Chris' neck, panting in his ear as that leg did wicked things to him. A hand slipped down the front of his pajamas and he hissed, bucking forward. "_Yes_," he growled.

"Good. I'm glad we have an agreement," Chris replied, kissing his boyfriend using more teeth than strictly necessary.


	3. Chapter 3

Dan's arms shook and, suddenly unable to support his own weight, his strength gave out and he collapsed, attempting to fall sideways so as to not squash Phil.

"Guh," Phil grunted underneath him, wriggling his head so that his chin popped over Dan's shoulder. "D—Dan…"

He flicked his eyes up to meet the blue ones of his new lover; Phil was looking flushed, sweaty about the hairline, quite a bit mussed with lightly bruised lips…

… And the expression on his face caused Dan's heart to do a little flip in his chest.

"Kiss me again," Phil said; he was clearly trying to sound assertive but the tiny Phil-like lilt at the last word made it sound more like a question. Dan smiled into Phil's now damp neck; he was still trying to catch his breath and Phil wanted more?

Dan scooted forward to do so, pressing an open-mouthed sigh onto Phil's soft, bow-shaped lips, but Phil would have none of that. Backing up, he took Dan's face in his hand and angled it slightly, then touched his forehead to Dan's. "Slowly," he whispered.

Dan was a bit surprised; after their fevered, clothes-shredding display a short while before, he had yet to see such a soft side of their love. He complied, feeling himself melt onto the older man's chest.

When they broke away, Dan rolled onto his side and let Phil nestle under his arms. He felt sticky and moist (the word itself caused him to shudder a bit; _moist_, but it was too accurate to avoid), yet he couldn't bring himself to leave, not when he had his nose buried in Phil's hair, enjoying the warm boy-scent and…

"Where is this going?" Phil asked, his jaw bumping Dan's head as he spoke.

Dan felt his eyebrow raise. Phil wanted to talk about that, now? Didn't afterglow mean anything to him? Didn't 'falling asleep instantly after the fact' apply? It was such a _girlish _question that Dan couldn't suppress a little snort.

"Don't laugh," Phil said, sounding pouty. Dan angled his face to look at him; he _was _pouty. Using his mouth, Dan sought out a sensitive spot he'd noticed earlier under Phil's right ear and lapped at it. Phil let out a strangled sort of noise.

"Can't it be the same as always?" he asked, "just with sex this time?"

It wasn't quite the correct response, if Phil's face was anything to judge by: he looked crestfallen. Dan felt bad and struggled for a response. "I meant, just… can't it be normal? Does it have to be a weird… production? Can't I still be me and you still be you and we'll just love each other a little more…" he gave up after a few painful moments and sank down back into the cushions, hiding his face in Phil's bare chest. "Feel free to hate me," he groaned. "I'm such a fail."

Phil's chest was shaking under his cheek, and Dan heard him laugh. "You try, Dan," he said consolingly, ruffling Dan's hair. "I think I get what you're saying though—can we still be normal friends who do normal videos?"

"Yes!" Dan breathed out in relief. "Only, can I kiss you when I feel like it now, and… stuff?" he couldn't help the cheeky grin that popped up on his face when he said 'stuff'. God, he was so immature…

Phil was smiling too. "You've wanted to kiss me before?"

Dan's face heated and he tried to hide his embarrassment with sarcasm. "_No, _Phil—I just did all that with someone I'm not attracted to in the slightest." He rolled his eyes, but the smile found its way back on his face just the same.

"I suppose keeping things normal is fine, as long as you cook me nice dinners and take me out sometimes," Phil decided.

Dan did laugh this time. "Phil, I do all that _anyway_."

"Oh, yeah… It's probably better we don't tell the Danosaurs or the Phillions about us though…" Phil mused.

Phil's tongue was poking out slightly between his teeth, Dan noticed, like it always did when he grinned. He couldn't quite explain why it made his heart squeeze so. "Why not?" he asked, already feeling heat pool in his belly once again. _Jeez_, it was like being fourteen all over again… Damn Phil.

"The tension; _duh_; shows are never as fun when the 'will they, won't they' couple gets together."

Dan shook his head. "You scheming monster, you. They only _think _you're sweet." He tried to scoot backwards so as to not bother Phil with his growing problem.

Phil was not so easily deceived. "I think I'm pretty sweet," he said to Dan, blue eyes lidded and pupils blown wide. Dan swallowed at the sight, or at least _tried _to swallow; it felt as if his adam's apple was trapped somewhere in his esophagus. "No," he squeaked as Phil scraped his nails softly down Dan's sides, elicting shivers. "_Definitely _not sweet."

Phil scooted down the sofa, licking and scraping and _oh God _Dan's head was spinning already. Phil's eyes flicked upwards towards his own, and there was something completely leonine about his smile.

"If you say so," was his only response.


	4. Chapter 4

"PJ!" Chris watched the blue-eyed man launch himself at his boyfriend and had to bite hard on his lip to keep himself from growling. No matter what PJ said, Chris couldn't quite shake the feeling that there might be an attraction there that made him uncomfortable.

"Hey, Phil!" PJ laughed, patting his friend on the back before looking up and catching Chris' eye. He gave a little cough before disentangling himself, quickly reaching for Dan instead. Chris felt himself relax, only to tense again as Phil then hugged _him_.

"Missed you, mate!" Phil said, that adorable 'naughty puppy' look on his face, with his eyes bright and his tongue poking out. Chris felt some of the ice in his heart melt at that; it was hard to stay mad at Phil, especially when you had him in your arms and he smelled like raspberries.

"Thanks for inviting us to your flat, PJ," Dan said, and Chris noticed the slight hint of coolness in the brown-eyed man's voice. Dan was usually a lot warmer to PJ… He couldn't stop himself from slinging an arm over the man's shoulder. Companions in envy, that's what they were. He briefly considered flirting with Dan to see if he could make the green-eyed monster manifest in PJ, but told himself he was above that.

Or at least, he was until the side of Dan's mouth quirked up and he nuzzled slightly into Chris' neck. Ok; so _Chris _might be above playing these games, but if Dan wasn't... Chris smiled and tilted his head back, allowing the nuzzling to continue. Who was he to spoil a bit of sport.

The sudden quietness in front of him made him peek through his eyelashes; Phil's blue eyes had grown even wider and his smile had decreased a few watts into one of uncertainty; PJ wasn't smiling at all, but instead giving Chris a considering, steely look; one that said _I know what you're doing and it is stupid._

He quickly pulled away from Dan. _Might as well break the ice now_… Grabbing PJ by belt loops, Chris yanked the man to himself and planted a kiss directly on his mouth. It wasn't a particularly nice or passionate kiss; more one to prove a point, but it still managed to send a butterfly through his digestive tract. _Stupid, _he thought, before meeting PJ's eyes. So _damn _green, and always so far away… and there went some more butterflies.

Glancing over at the others, he saw that Dan's mouth was hanging open in shocked delight and Phil's eyebrows had shot up on his head. Turning to face them, Chris pulled PJ into a headlock. "Guys, I'd like to introduce you to my boyfriend, Peej."

PJ tried to wriggle free and Chris responded by giving him a noogie. Arms flailing like a windmill and face reddening, PJ choked out, "and I'd like to introduce you to _my _boyfriend, Chris the Barbarian."

"What, for real?" Dan asked, not unkindly. Chris supposed it made sense; he and Peej'd joked about it so long that it becoming reality may be a bit surprising.

PJ straightened up and gave Chris a _look _that sent all the blood in Chris' body bubbling to his cheeks before wrapping a gentler arm around his shoulders. "Yeah, really," he said softly.

"Well that's a funny coincidence…" Phil began, and when Chris and PJ turned to look at him, he seemed to fall silent. "Ah," he tried to get the words out, then, "Ha ha haaa…"

"Oh for God's sake," Dan rolled his eyes.

"Why is it a funny coincidence?" PJ asked. From the tone of his voice, Chris knew that _PJ _knew exactly why.

"It's funny because we have the same news you do—Phil and I are together." Despite his attempts to seem unaffected, Dan couldn't seem to meet their gaze, looking at the wall somewhere over PJ's shoulder.

"That's great!" PJ exclaimed loudly, wiggling free to grab them both round their necks in a bear hug. "I'm so happy for you both!"

Feeling left out, Chris went to duck between two pairs of arms and join in on the bear hug. "I'm happy for all of us!" he said, smiling cheekily.

Someone—probably Dan—swayed a little off-balance and the other three, trying to keep him upright, ended up toppling over too in a crash of arms and legs. Chris was reminded of the time they'd all played Twister together to keep the fans happy.

"Ow," PJ groaned from the bottom of the pile and Chris worked to extract his boyfriend from the flailing limbs that were Dan and Phil.

"We should celebrate!" he said cheerfully. "Go have dinner, and Dan should pay."

"What?" Dan exclaimed. "How is _that _fair?!"

With a little negotiation it was decided that, _yes_, they would all go out to dinner and _no_, Dan did not have to pay for it all; it would be an even price split. As they set down the street, elbows linked like a goofy promotional ad for the _Wizard of Oz_, Chris couldn't quite keep the grin off of his face. He couldn't ask for a better boyfriend, better friends, or a better life.

*_Fin_*


End file.
